The words land heavily between us.
Maya holds my gaze for a beat before continuing. "Knox covers your garage. If anyone asks, Hammer called you to New York for club business." She steps closer. "Eight days. That's all. She testifies, Venetti goes away, and she's out of your life."
"I don't do babysitting. I don't do protection detail. And I sure as hell don't do locked in a cottage with a stranger."
"She's not a stranger. She's a witness." Maya's jaw sets. "A witness who did the right thing and has been running for her life ever since."
"And you pulled the short straw? Or did you volunteer?"
"Volunteered. Your brothers would've led with orders, and you would've told them to fuck off." She steps closer. "I lead with pasta and guilt. Much more effective. Plus, I’m the only non-member they can trust with this."
She's right. I would have told them to fuck off, and I still might.
"If this is a choice," I say slowly, "my answer is no."
Headlights sweep across the window. An engine cuts off. Maya's shoulders drop half an inch—relief. She'd been stalling.
"It's not a choice. She's already here."
A car door slams shut.
Maya crosses the room to the front door.
"You planned this whole thing. Played me from the second I walked in."
"I planned to appeal to your compassionate side." She opens the door before Nova can knock. "Which I know is buried in there somewhere."
Nova steps in first. Dark hair pulled into a tight ponytail, and her sharp eyes clock every exit before she even looks at me.
"I know Maya ambushed you," she says, not sounding sorry at all. "But we couldn't chance you saying no. Carver will come for her right before the trial. She just needs somewhere off-grid until then. No one's coming to look in rural Georgia for a witness who's supposed to be in police protection." She pauses, waiting for the pushback.
"The people after her—how connected are we talking?"
"Connected enough to have eyes inside the system somewhere." Nova's expression is grim. "But not enough to reach out here. This road isn't on GPS. The property's still listed under the original owner—no ties to the club on paper. As far as anyone knows, this cottage doesn't exist."
"And if they find her anyway?"
"They won't. We've got resources tracking Venetti's people—if they make a move, we'll know before they get close. And you? You're technical, you're isolated, and you know how to lock down a location. That's why it's you."
Behind her, a shadow steps into the light.
Hair the color of dark earth, pulled back from her face. Pale skin with purple smudges under her eyes. Bruises along her arms—dark purple and fresh. She's wearing clothes that don't fit, men's sweatpants rolled at the waist, and an oversized t-shirtthat slips off one shoulder. Under the collar, I catch the edge of white gauze.
She's clutching a light duffel bag with white-knuckled fingers.
"All she has is what she ran in. I put together clothes and essentials—duffel's got everything she needs."
I grunt.
Eden Cross keeps her back to the wall. Her eyes track to the exits first—kitchen door, front door, windows. Then to me. Green eyes darting to every exit, every shadow, never landing anywhere for long.
She's still standing. Bruised, exhausted, terrified—but standing. Chin up. Back straight.
Fucking beautiful.
I kill the thought before it grows teeth.
She's traumatized. She's temporary. She's not mine to want.
